


Washed Ashore

by deadcourf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Minor Violence, Ondine!Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, kind of idk where this will go, thats p much it tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1542029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcourf/pseuds/deadcourf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Sam spend a week at the beach - not on their own time of course, their dad has a job in the area - an unexpected figure swims into Dean's life. Literally. This fishy creature, Castiel, has secrets that are kept well behind lock and key. But as the week winds down and goodbyes are inevitable, certain things are revealed about Castiel that should have remained as secrets. Complications regarding Castiel's health throw Dean into a tailspin and suddenly his entire world is turned upside down. Who is Castiel, really? And why his undying love for the ocean's wonder and mystery?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And miles to go...miles to go

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost, and a WIP. I'll try to update whenever I can, but at the moment, I'm swamped. Enjoy?

**Wednesday – Day 1**

The full moon, luminescent and plump, only graces the night sky once a month. The day that it peaks among the stars over the Pacific, a man stands with his toes in the sand. He stretches them achingly, craving the salt-water foam that curls around his ankles. Raising his sun-kissed nose in the air, he lets his head roll sideways to enjoy the cool breeze.

“ _And miles to go before I sleep_ ” – he recites a familiar poem, the title lost to him after all these years, but the words still fresh in his mind – “ _and miles to go before I sleep_.”

Dean sighs pleasantly. He never gets time to himself like this. There’s always something to be taken care of, like his brother Sam or their family car, and Dean is _always_ the designated handyman. Hopefully this vacation would work wonders on him, smooth out his worry lines and maybe even rub away the tension in his shoulders.

Waves crash against the shore in a rhythm that nearly lulls Dean to sleep. The beach is so calm in comparison to the busy suburbia lifestyle his family leads. They used to own a quiet farm house back in Kansas, but after Dean and Sam’s mother died, their father swept them away to a dirty neighborhood in southern New Jersey. Dean can barely remember the name of it. Since their dad has gotten a lot of job openings all around the country, the little family of three hasn’t had a real home in a year or two. They’ve been roughing it in cheap motels and friends of friend’s couches when they aren’t on the road, which isn’t a lot.

Right now their dad is at the local police office, re-stocking their gun and ammo supply. Why he’s doing it at 9 o’clock on a Wednesday night, Dean has no idea. His dad tells him the same thing whenever he does inquire about those kinds of things.

_Shoot first, ask questions later._

“Don’t worry about it. Go back inside, Dean. Go check on Sammy, Dean. Do _this_ , Dean. Do _that,_ Dean. _DO EVERYTHING, DEAN,”_ he huffs, crossing his arms against the sudden drop in temperature.

The light of the moon shimmers across the rocking sea. It is like a golden veil that blankets the ocean creatures from the darkness of the world above. Dean wonders if the fish are thinking the same thing.

Just then, as Dean bends over to scoop his leather riding jacket and helmet from the sandy shore, something winks brightly along the horizon. It’s only for an instant and Dean questions whether or not he actually saw it. Yet he squints and waits for another glimpse of whatever he had seen.

The moon ticks towards the horizon like the minute hand would do on the face of a clock. Time is running out for the night sky, its stars beginning to blink out of existence until the following evening when they will return again. The earth is turning, and Dean still stands waiting for that brief twinkle underneath the moonlit sky.

“Dean!”

Jumping out of his skin, Dean whips around with one hand clutching his helmet and the other at his heart. He sighs with relief when he realizes that it was just Sam. The stupid little guy was running down the beach like a chicken with his head cut off.

“What? Where’s the fire?” Dean calls out.

“No fire, just,” Sam slows to a stop, panting wildly, “didn’t know where you went.”

“That’s a poor excuse to get out of bed if I ever heard one.”

“Shut up.”

Dean turns around to grab his jacket, hiding the smile that spreads across his face. As much as it bothers him, he loves the harmless banter between him and Sam. It keeps him entertained on most occasions, but sometimes it gets a little tricky.

“I didn’t know you were so into the ocean,” Sam observes, sweeping the long brown fringe away from his eyes. _That kid needs a haircut_ , Dean chuckles.

“I’m not. I only came down because it looked like there was some trash down here.”

Sam obviously isn’t buying Dean’s bullshit. He crosses his arms with a knowing smirk. “And was there?”

“No, must’ve been a trick of the light,” Dean mumbles. He looks out to the horizon once more, trying to see if that light was going to show up again.

“That’s a poor excuse to get out of bed if I ever heard one.”

“Shut _up_ , Sam.”

Silence falls lightly on their shoulders. Sam’s faint chuckling fades into the darkness and Dean casts yet another watchful eye on the horizon, hoping that his twinkling light would appear for him just one more time. When a minute passes and he can hear Sam shifting impatiently behind him, Dean turns dejectedly to his brother, who gasps loudly.

“Oh my god, Dean! Look!” Sam pushes past Dean and points wildly at the water. “Did you see that? What was that?”

Dean spins around frantically, peering in the direction of Sam’s shaking finger. But there is nothing. Whatever Sam had seen is gone with the blink of an eye.

“It was probably a dolphin or something,” he says, clapping Sam on the back. “Come on, let’s go up to the motel. It’s too cold down here.”

Nodding, Sam lets his brother lead him back up the beach. The taller boy, older by four years, rubs some warmth back into his little brother. Although Sam hadn’t said anything, he's shivering from the chilly sea breeze. It’s that time of summer when the days are scorching but the nights are cool, almost freezing.

As they walk away from the shore, leaving the ocean and all of its mysteries behind, what Sam and Dean don’t see is a shadowed figure. The moon’s soft light washes over the figure, making it glow against the ocean’s contrasting dark waves. It swims towards shore, racing towards something unknown, like their life depends on it.

And maybe it does.


	2. Eyes the color of the ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean bumps into The Roadhouse's new busboy.

**Thursday – Day 2**

“A _week_?”

Dean can’t believe it. His dad had explained earlier yesterday afternoon that they would only have to spend the night in this hot town, and now they’re staying for a whole goddamn week.

“Yes, Dean,” John says, rolling his eyes frustratingly for the umpteenth time. “I’m going to be working in the area with a few other places and it will be easier for you and Sam to stay here while I do so. Enjoy the beach, feed some ducks, do _something_!”

Dean slumps in his seat at the small kitchen table in their motel room. The air is stale to match the damp smell of all of the furniture, making Dean cringe distastefully.

“There aren’t any ducks around here, that’s for sure,” he grumbles.

Before his father can lash at him for his unnecessary cold shoulder reaction, Dean gets up and ducks into the bathroom to take a cold shower. Maybe that will blow the steam off him.

He can still hear Sam’s light snoring over the low-pressured jet stream coming from the shower head while he rinses and repeats for good measure. As soon as they had got in last night, Sam had gone straight to bed. The poor kid was more tired than he let on. He almost passed out cold at the doorstep while Dean fumbled with the key to the room in his back pocket. Somehow he managed to stumble straight to his bed and fall asleep fully clothed; ten hours later and he is still in the same spot.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Dean ambles out of the bathroom to see that Sam is finally awake. They share a few mumbled good mornings before going off in their separate ways regarding daily morning routines. Dean had taken the first shower, so he lets Sam have the bathroom to change. Dean therefore dresses in the main room – with the blinds down. They have the whole procedure down pat, which never ceases to make Dean grin with a quiet sense of pride in his little brother’s cooperation skills.

Dean barely has time to change before Sam’s shuffling into the room to grab his toothbrush. He’s already changed and ready to go, but Dean still has to add a little bit of gel to his hair and find the keys to his bike. He thinks that maybe he and Sam could go on a ride downtown for breakfast instead of the packets of instant oatmeal that are crammed in the microwave. Anything would be better than that.

“So,” Sam says, his mouth full of toothpaste, “do we have a plan for today?”

“Actually, I was just thinking we could go out for breakfast, park the bike somewhere and then go for a walk down the beach. How does that sound?”

There’s a short pause as Sam gargles and spits out the remaining toothpaste. He returns to the front room to toss his toothbrush onto his bed, not bothering to repack it. Smiling at Dean, he says, “That sounds _perfect_.”

“Great, let me find my keys and we’ll be on our way,” Dean returns the smile, mussing Sam’s mop of brown hair.

When Dean finds his keys, which were hiding in a mug on the kitchen counter, he lures Sam outside with the promise of a fresh omelet and smoked bacon. _On_ _the house_.

It doesn’t take long for them to find a cozy family diner that serves a decent – and cheap – breakfast. The entire town is covered in them. Every street has at least one, if not two, of the home-style themed restaurants. But Sam makes Dean pull over to a particular one that lies next to what looks like an abandoned bait shop. It’s a good thing that the smell of home fries and bacon overpowers the lurking fishy stench, otherwise Dean would have ignored Sam’s desperate nudges in the side to pull over.

Popping off his helmet, Dean takes a closer look at the bait shop. The windows are cloudy from years of dust collecting on the sills and glazing the glass panes. A tattered “ _We’re hiring!”_ sign is taped to the front wall next to the door, which is wide open. There is a faint fluorescent light coming from inside the small store, but no movement can be seen from where Dean is standing. Maybe if he can inch closer he can…

“Hey, Dean-o,” a voice behind him sing-songs. Dean turns around, startled by his brother’s deep tone, like he had aged ten years during the bike ride.

“Coming,” is Dean’s belated reply. He’s transfixed by the bulb’s soft glow pulsating through the crusty windows, unable to tear his eyes from the dimly lit room. But there is no one within the building. It looks like it’s been closed for decades. Shaking his head, Dean joins his brother at the diner’s front door.

“I don’t know about you,” Sam smiles, “but I’m dying for a plate of bacon.”

“Whatever you want, little man,” Dean chuckles, ruffling his brother’s hair.

They stroll inside, narrowly avoiding the busboy carrying a tray of dirty dishes. The plates wobble slightly as he slips through the kitchen door. Dean only catches a short glimpse of his rugged features, black-rimmed glasses gracing the bridge of his nose and a five o’clock shadow coming seven hours too early. Nothing is said between the two of them, but for some other worldly reason, Dean feels like he’s seen the guy before.

 _Just one of those faces_ , he remarks.

He and Sam are seated and order the special, which is practically a three course meal with heaping amounts of eggs, bacon and toast. Before they know it they’re drowning in butter and nearly stuffed with scrambled eggs. The brothers moan, both stomachs overwhelmed with the amount of food and it’s quality.

Sam claims he’s never had eggs like that in his whole goddamn life, and Dean tells his not to swear like that in a public place. He’s only fourteen for God’s sake. But in response, Sam reminds Dean of all the things he did when he was Sam’s age. And that’s when the conversation – and breakfast – ends.

They pay and leave a hefty tip as a thank you for the wonderful meal. The sky is spotted with commercial airplanes and low-flying kites as the summer day wanes towards noon. Dean hadn’t even realized how much time they had spent eating. It must have been at least two hours. The clock on his motorcycle read 10:32 AM.

“So, what now?” Sam wonders aloud, squinting against the bright sunlight.

“Dunno,” Dean checks his pocket for his phone. After discovering that he left it on the seat in the diner, he runs back inside to retrieve it. Although his phone isn’t the only thing he finds.

A roughly shaven face greets him at the door, half of it hidden by a pair of familiar-looking glasses. _It’s the busboy_.

“Hey,” he chirps. His lips spread into a wide smile. Dean can’t help but think that those lips could build mountains and that voice could drown a nation. Snapping himself away from those dangerous thoughts, he returns the smile.

“Hey, I just forgot my phone at our table. I’ll only be a second,” Dean gestures to the table where his phone can be seen lying on the plastic-cushioned booth. The boy nods, a faint rosy hue blossoming on his cheeks.

“You also, um, forgot your receipt,” he says, handing Dean a crumpled piece of paper.

“Oh, thanks.”

Grabbing it, Dean can see something written in a gorgeous script. He peers closer and notices that it’s a name underneath a hastily written “thank you, have a nice day!”, but why would the busboy write on his receipt?

“Thanks, Castiel.” He nods politely at the boy and retrieves his phone from the booth seat. When he returns to the door, Castiel is nervously knotting and un-knotting the rag in his hands. He’s mauling the poor thing to death, muttering to himself something Dean can’t make out.

The sun peaks through the window right then, glinting off a golden chain around Castiel’s neck. Dean wants to ask what lies at the end of the chain, but he can hear Sam whining even from inside the diner.

He places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, which makes the busboy jump in his skin.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, thanks again,” Dean smiles.

“No, no, it’s no problem,” Castiel replies, returning the gesture.

They look at each other for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, and all Dean can think of is how he’s drowning in those eyes. Eyes the color of the ocean, holding galaxies within their gaze. An impatient cry snaps Dean out of his daydreaming. He looks to his right and sees Sam making faces at him, clearly annoyed that Dean was taking so long.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckles. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Castiel nods eagerly. He bites his lip thoughtfully while Dean trudges through the new wave of customers to meet his brother by the motorcycle.

Sam punches Dean lightly on the shoulder. “What the hell was that man? Making goo-goo eyes with the busboy?”

“Shut up, Sam. You know it wasn’t like that.”

“Says who? Hey, what’s that.”

He snatches the receipt from Dean’s hand, who sighs in exasperation. The two brothers have been at each other’s throats lately. They were dying for a little space since they’ve been on the road for so long. The only peace and quiet Dean had lately was when Sam rode in their dad’s classic Chevy Impala, leaving Dean alone on his bike.

“Castiel, huh? I’m surprised he didn’t leave you his number,” Sam smirks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “God, Sam. I’m not even _like_ that. It was only that one time. Besides, we were both drunk.”

“Whatever.” Castiel peeks through the front door, which is wide open, to get a glimpse at the two boys. Sam spies him lurking in the shadows, quickly glances down at the receipt again, and raises a hand, saying, “Thanks, Cas!”

Castiel brightens, waves, and hops back to work. There’s a tiny skip in his step as he hoists the wash bucket onto his hip and returns to the kitchen.

“Cas?” Dean raises his brow. “What the heck is a Cas?”

A hand waves the receipt in his face. “It’s his name, well, a shortened version of his name anyways,” Sam pockets the small paper and slides his helmet on, ready to move on for the day.

The word lingers on Dean’s lips as he mouths it a few times over, trying to understand why he feels the way he does when the word sits on his tongue.  _Cas._ It almost sounds wholesome to Dean, like he’d been waiting 18 years to hear that name.

“Are we going or not?” Sam remarks. Dean can practically hear his signature eye-roll. Since when had Sam become this bratty teenager? _He’s fourteen for Chrissake_.

Slipping his helmet atop his freshly cut hair, Dean plops down in front of Sam, revving the bike’s engine. He glances at the diner once more, memorizing its name for future reference. They should definitely have breakfast out more often. _The Roadhouse_ , he squints, _I need to remember that._

The engine sparks to life, roaring over the typical beach commotion. Their next stop was the motel to change into some more comfortable clothes, since Dean’s leather jacket wasn’t really helping with the sun bearing down on his back. The sea breezes distract him from the unbearable heat for a little while, but not long enough.

Seagulls squawk above their heads, circling the overflowing trash bins waiting at the ends of driveways for the garbage truck. Dean kicks his bike into gear and soars over the blacktop, leaving the Roadhouse behind.

 _Soon, Cas_ , he promises. _Soon._

**x**

For the rest of the afternoon, Sam and Dean hang out in their motel room. Their dad is out doing business until later that night, which gives them time alone to do what brother’s do best.

“So,” Sam begins while he chews on the end of a Twizzler, “you guys were drunk, and that was it?”

Ever since their conversation earlier at the diner, Sam has been all over Dean about his one night stand with their temporary neighbor from Denver, Colorado. The trio had stayed there for two days and one night, and apparently that was long enough for Dean to get nice and cozy with Benny Lafitte, the 20-year-old grease monkey that rented the hotel room next to theirs.

“Yeah, he invited me over for a beer. He was nice enough, didn’t make me do anything. Somehow one beer turned into, like, six and we were,” Dean gulps sheepishly, “you know, _in bed._ ”

Various gagging and dry heaving noises come from behind the pillow shoved over Sam’s face. He reveals himself not long after, his expression screwed up into a permanent grimace.

“No more, _please_. Change the subject.”

Dean raises his hands innocently. “Hey man, you’re the one who brought it up.”

That keeps Sam quiet. He nods his head like he’s mulling over something very serious, eyes glued to the floor. After a while, he looks up at Dean, his eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Did you…like it? Ow!”

Before he can finish his question, a pillow soars through the air and smacks him across the cheek. He doubles over in pain, hand rubbing the sore spot along his jaw.

“I was just curious,” he whimpers as Dean gloats his childish success.

“Curiosity killed the cat, my friend,” Dean jeers, taking a sip from his Coke. “But I’ll shoot.”

He scoots closer to Sam, part of him wanting to indulge in his brother’s innocent interest. It would be nice to tell the truth for once, even though it risks being teased by Sam for the rest of his life.

“I’ll admit that I…enjoyed it, but I’m not exactly sure if I’m…” The thought drops there, not wanting to say the word that could make or break Dean. If he says it, somehow he believes that makes it true.

“Right,” says Sam. He says it offhandedly, like he’s engrossed in something else that no one else can see but him. Dean leaves him that way and heads to take a shower.

It’s almost dinner time, and Dean figures that their dad will bring them a pizza – hopefully. He wishes that the shower’s high-pressured water would pound away all the thoughts from today. Thinking about that night with Benny has Dean’s skin crawling with the passionate memory. The warmth and the soft hands smoothing the freckles spotting Dean’s back are too much for him. He wishes that life was simple; simple enough for him to want something and not be ashamed.


	3. I am a man of the ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and his new friend do a little exploring.

**Friday – Day 3**

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he asks Sam if he wants to go take a walk down by the waves. Groaning sleepily, Sam rolls over and declines his offer. Dean shrugs, not at all bothered by leaving his little brother in the motel while he does his own exploring – _alone_ , while he still can.

The seat of his bike vibrates underneath him as he cruises down the street to The Roadhouse. While Dean has no intention of seeing the busboy, he does want to check out that abandoned bait shop. That is, if it really is abandoned. Whoever owns the diner must know what the deal is with their neighbor. If not then Dean’s going to find out himself.

**x**

The loud roar of a motorbike cuts off suddenly, and immediately Castiel has his nose pressed against the kitchen’s bay window. _It’s him_ , he smiles. _What’s he doing here?_

“Castiel!” A gruff voice barks out an order to a fellow wait staff member and then turns its attention to the busboy scrambling to look out the window. “What have I told you about mucking around in here? It’s only your third day. Don’t make me regret hiring you!”

Castiel stumbles away from the window and unties the knot holding the apron around his waist. He tosses the piece of filthy cloth to the floor, squaring his shoulders to look his boss, Uriel, in the eye. “I quit.”

Before Mr. Crowley can say a word, Castiel darts out the back door, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He can clearly hear the shouts and curse words being thrown his way, but he doesn’t let them touch him. When his shoes slap against the pavement, he ducks behind the building to avoid being seen by the newcomer.

The tall, freckled boy stands in the doorway of the bait shop, his eyes wandering behind him to make sure no one is watching. _Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me_ , Castiel chants, closing his eyes. He risks another glance and the coast is clear. The boy has disappeared into the bait shop, and Castiel is going after him.

The freckled boy might just be the one he’s been looking for.

**x**

Dean’s mouth pops open in awe when he steps into the bait shop. A hundred different kinds of lures hang from the ceiling. Their vibrant colors, thrown together by delicate fingers, dance above his head in the light ocean breeze that floats through the open doorway. As Dean walks farther into the shop, he discovers more and more treasures.

Behind the counter, where a rusty cash register and bell lay abandoned, there is a large box that Dean itches to open. His hands hover over the lid, but he stops for a moment. Everything else in this shop is covered in layers of dust. _How come this box isn’t? Does that mean…_

Dean isn’t able to finish his thought because his hands have betrayed him by ripping the cover away. Inside the box are a pile of folded clothes – a pair of jeans and underwear and a grey t-shirt – that look to be about a decade old. The jeans are torn and the t-shirt is rugged, but other than that they seem fresh. As if someone just placed them in here, maybe a day or two ago.

Lifting the clothes up and out of the box onto the floor, Dean continues to snoop. Underneath the clothes is a small, ornately carved metal box. The designs are beautiful. Dean traces them with his index finger. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he would most definitely open the chest to unveil its contents, but the damn thing’s locked. There’s no key in the cardboard box either, so there’s absolutely no way Dean can feed his curiosity.

He thinks about picking the lock, but a crash that sounds too much like glass breaking distracts him from his thoughts. Dean freezes, one hand shoved in the box, the other at his back pocket, where he keeps his pocket knife. _And Sam said it was stupid to carry this thing around_. Dean moves slowly, not wanting to bring any attention to himself, and eases his way to the edge of the counter so he can peer around it.

When he carefully pokes his head out, he sees the strangest thing. It’s Castiel, the busboy, lying on the ground in the middle of what looks to be the aftermath to an explosion of lures and who the hell knows what else. Dean quickly scrambles to his feet to go check up on the motionless figure, praying that there isn’t anything seriously wrong with him.

“Hey, Cas, are you alright?” Dean places a tentative hand on one of Cas’ shoulders. The busboy groans in response, turning over slowly and rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he grunts. His glasses hang crookedly off one ear. “I think I’m okay. Nothing feels broken, just bruised.”

Dean nods, but his eyes scan over Castiel’s body, just in case. The busboy seems to be telling the truth. Dean doesn’t see any scratches or blood anywhere, so that’s a good sign. _Dude’s clumsy as hell though,_ Dean comments, giving him a hand up. Castiel readjusts his glasses when he gets his bearings back. When he realizes the intimacy of the situation, with Dean standing so close to him, he blushes.

“S-sorry to have bothered you,” Cas stammers, rocking back on his heels. “I just… I heard a noise and my boss asked me to come over and check what was going on so-“

Dean holds a hand up to quiet Castiel’s rambling. “Don’t worry about it. I was just checking this place out. S’kinda cool, isn’t it?” His head falls back as he observes the masterpiece above him: a giant stuffed marlin. _Guess I missed that one comin’ in_.

Castiel squints slightly, but eventually – although hesitant – he leans his own head back, staring at the marlin above. Dean takes that as his chance to side-eye the blue-eyed busboy. Curious as he seems, Castiel isn’t all that bad. Sure, he could probably ditch the glasses so Dean could actually _see_ his eyes, but that’s all really. Everything else about him, his lean torso and biceps, tight calves and dorky converse – _even though it’s summer and he works at a goddamn beach diner_ – is adorable.

“What?” Castiel says, momentarily distracted from the fishing memorabilia above him.

_Shit, I said that out loud didn’t I?_ Dean scolds himself for thinking out loud. He has no idea where he developed that habit, but it has to end here. If he starts to narrate all the personal thoughts he has on a daily basis, then he’s screwed one way or another.

“Uh,” Dean coughs to clear his throat, “nothin’. Like I said, don’t worry about it. I should probably go check up on my brother.” Castiel’s shoulders sag when Dean mentions his departure. The movement is so minute that Dean barely catches it from the corner of his eye. “You should probably get back to work, too. I bet there’s a pile of dishes waiting for you.”

With that said, Cas’ entire body stiffens. That probably came off as an insult, but that’s not how Dean meant it to be. His mouth opens, ready to apologize, but Cas is already halfway out the door. “Nice seeing you again,” he mumbles, not bothering to look back at the slack-jawed idiot named Dean Winchester.

Dean groans, covering his face with his hands. He always manages to fuck things up, especially with potential friends. That’s if he can even consider Castiel a friend; they’ve only met twice, and neither of them ended how Dean imagined them to. The day has just started and already he’s insulted his new friend – although he doubts they’re anywhere near friendship status now. _Great job, Winchester. Dad’d be real proud._

He shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles through the doorway. With one last glance over his shoulder, he leaves the bait shop behind. No more adventures for him, not after what just happened. Obviously Dean leaving his comfort zone and trying something new for once doesn’t work well for others, or him for that matter.

Looks like it’s just him and Sammy this week, stuck in that goddamn motel room.

**x**

_That was awful. Damn it, Castiel, you can do better than that_. With his head in his hands, Castiel paces in The Roadhouse’s employee bathroom. It’s nearly noon, and the lunch rush is about to file in, but Castiel couldn’t be bothered into leaving the foul-smelling room. He hears a voice outside calling him, and he walks up to the door, pressing his forehead against the cool surface.

“Yes?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We need you out here, Castiel,” Ellen’s voice floats through the cracks. “You know what lunch hour looks like, so either suck it up or leave your apron at the door.”

Castiel hears her boots clunk down the hallway and into the kitchen, where she no doubt assigns Castiel’s job to someone else. He didn’t think this job would last anyway. And it’s not like he’s going to be here for long. He only has four days left until he has to return home, forever, and most likely empty handed and broken. If only he hadn’t messed things up with Dean today, he may have been close to victory.

_Don’t think of it as that_ , he tells himself. _Just because you chose to leave home, doesn’t mean that you get to objectify a human being. They deserve more than that._ Dean _deserves more than that._

Castiel sighs, opening the door and strutting into the kitchen and out the back door. His apron is fluttering to the ground and he’s halfway across the parking lot before Ellen can open her mouth to yell at him. She stands in the doorway, hands on her hips and a towel slung over her shoulder. She shakes her head, muttering who knows what to herself, and closes the back door.

“Well,” Castiel mumbles, “there’s goes _that_ cover-up.”

He continues to walk until he finds the motel that’s about a two mile walk from The Roadhouse. Castiel sighs with relief when he sees the “no” part of the “no vacancy” sign flickers until the light goes completely out. Hopefully that isn’t just a fluke and that there is vacancy, because Castiel can’t think of anywhere else to go right now. For the past few nights, he’s been sleeping on the beach, letting the glow of the rising sun be his alarm to get ready for work. However, now that he doesn’t have the employee bathroom to shower in, he’ll need a real bed and bathroom.

Castiel strolls into the lobby, looking for the manager. The last thing he needs right now is for the light fixture to be jacked up, and the hard truth that he’ll have to sleep on the cold sand again. The manager finally appears behind the counter.

“Hello,” Castiel says, tapping his fingers on the cheap marble counter top. “One single please.”

**x**

Dean holes himself up in the motel room for the rest of the afternoon. He shoves his headphones over his ears, drowning himself in Led Zeppelin and Kansas until they blend together, becoming indistinguishable from each other. Sam tries to get his attention several times, but Dean won’t budge. Finally, Sam gives up and moves on to finding something to do. He settles with watching crappy cable on the ancient TV set in the corner of the room.

When dinner time rolls around, Sam is bouncing on Dean’s bed, begging him to get them something to eat. After five minutes of bracing himself against Sam’s whining, Dean finally caves in. “ _Fine_ ,” he hisses, ripping his headphones off and tossing them onto the bed. “I’ll go get you some goddamn chicken fingers or something for _Chrissake_.”

Sam scurries off Dean’s bed and toward the window, where he peeks between the blinds. “Dean, someone’s taking the room next to ours.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’ll happen at a motel, Sammy.” _Now where are my keys?_ He searches everywhere for them until, _ah yep,_ he finds them by the microwave. “Now sit tight until I get back, ya hear? Stay out of trouble and keep the door locked. Only open up the door for me, I’ll knock the secret knock, alright?” Dean looks over at Sam while he turns the doorknob. The kid is still looking through the blinds.

“Hey, close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,” Dean mumbles, opening the door, only to be met with a familiar pair of blue eyes.

“Oh,” Castiel gasps softly. His elbows are propped up on the railing, his head only turning around halfway. That is, until he sees Dean. After meeting Dean’s gaze, Cas turns around fully, his arms crossed against his chest. “Hello, Dean. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Small world,” Dean says, closing the door behind him. He can hear Sam’s protests while he closes the door, but Dean would rather Sam not hear what he’s about to say. Hands in his pockets, Dean asks, “Would you like to go get something to eat?”

Cas purses his lips and his eyes drop to the ground. Dean’s about to roll his eyes and storm off on his own when Cas replies, “Sure.” Dean’s ears redden when he realizes that Cas will have to wrap his arms around Dean’s torso during the ride.

“Great,” Dean nods. “Come with me.”

The ride is surprisingly short, but predictably wonderful. Castiel’s warm arms wrap around Dean’s chubby abdomen for the entirety of the quick two minute drive on Dean’s bike. Dean has trouble focusing on the road with Cas’ chin on his shoulder, his cheek brushing against Dean’s. A few times, Dean swears that Cas’ lips touched the nook beneath his ear, but he could have been imagining that. He had to have been.

“Three chicken finger dinners, please,” Dean orders at the window, his helmet tucked under his arm. Cas waits on the bike, his arms wrapped around his own torso, shivering steadily due to the brisk sea breeze. _It’s damn cold at night here_.

Dean grabs the containers from the guy working the window and relishes their warmth. He hurries them over to Cas, shoving them into his hands in hopes of warming him up. Cas sighs pleasurably, making Dean’s skin crawl, but in a good way. “Can you hold those and still manage to hold onto me on the way back?” Cas nods in response, his teeth chattering too hard for him to speak.

When Sam opens the door after Dean performs the secret knock they devised when they were younger, his eyes widen at the sight of Cas. But he has little to no time to ask any questions before Dean hands him the container and Sam’s attention focuses on filling his empty stomach.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?” Dean says, one foot already out the door again, the blanket from his bed wedged beneath his arm. “Cas and I are going to eat on the balcony. Holler if you’re choking.”

Cas is already halfway done with his chicken fingers by the time Dean spreads out the blanket and sits down next to the dark, windblown haired boy. His eyes are bright against the contrasting sky above him. They shine almost as beautifully as the stars do, but somehow more so. Dean feels himself falling deep into their abyss.

“So,” Dean begins through a mouthful of chicken, “am I allowed to know any more about you? Or are we going to stop at first names?”

Castiel hesitates on his next bite. Instead, he gently places the piece back into the white container. There’s a moment of silence, and then Cas’ musical voice fills the void.

“If you really want to know more about me, I’m afraid I cannot indulge any more than the fact that I am a man of the ocean.”

“You can’t be older than eighteen,” Dean scoffs. Castiel replies with a smirk and a short laugh.

“You’d be surprised. I look young for my age,” he sounds far away when he speaks, as if his mind is somewhere else, somewhere that Dean cannot reach. It wouldn’t surprise him if Cas turned out to be a mystical creature from goddamn outer space. The guy has that kind of fantastical aura about him.

“Alright, so despite the fact that you’re probably a pedophile trying to kidnap me,” Dean jokes, his smile fading quickly, “how long are you here for?”

Dean hopes he says more than one night. Granted, Dean himself only has four days left before the Winchesters are back on the road again, but still, he has reason to hope. Hope that he and Castiel can stay in touch. That is, if Cas even wants to.

“Not long,” Cas sighs. “A few more days, maybe. At least until Tuesday night. Why? How long are you staying here for?”

Dean closes his eyes briefly, mentally whooping and hollering in victory. So he has until Tuesday to win Cas over. That gives him plenty of time. “The same. My dad will most likely be done with his job here by then. If not, then earlier. Although I’d hate for that to be the case.” His voice softens, and Cas stops to meet Dean’s eyes. _Maybe he doesn’t mind spending a few more days with me_ , Dean thinks. _Either that, or he’s too afraid to speak his mind and tell me to get the hell away from him_.

“Dean, I-“ Cas leans forward, his eyes filled with fear and longing, but a heavy set of footsteps interrupts them.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” John Winchester, with his work bag slung over one shoulder, and an armful of papers in the other, stands dumbfounded at the top of the staircase leading to the second floor of rooms. His eyes widen when he sees the mess that the two boys have made, but he’s more furious at the close proximity of Castiel’s face and Dean’s. “Inside. Now.”

The older Winchester doesn’t hesitate to follow his father’s orders. He mumbles a quick apology to Cas, and promises to meet him at the beach tomorrow. When John crashes into the motel room, Dean follows closely behind him, not risking a glance behind him. But he knows Cas isn’t furious at him, or upset or confused, because the smile that spreads across his lips is the evidence to prove it.


	4. The Carnival - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you really like the ocean, huh?”
> 
> Chuckling, Cas responds, his eyes still closed. “That’s an understatement.”

**Saturday – Day 4 (Part 1)**

Last night had been hell for Dean.

After an hour of listening to his dad spit curses and disappointed fragments of sentences at him, he had collapsed on the bed, twisting and turning until 3 a.m. It was at that time Dean eased himself out of the covers and quietly shoved his feet into his shoes and tip-toed out of the motel. He would have a much better chance at sleeping peacefully, without the fear of his father beating him in the middle of the night, on the beach.

By the watch on his wrist, Dean sees that the face reads 6:45 a.m. He has been sitting on the shore, inches away from the tide, and waiting for the sunrise for almost four hours. Now the sun’s rays are only half-hidden by the horizon, and Dean breathes in the promise of sunshine.

When he exhales, a shadow appears next to him. He inhales again, and Castiel sits down on the cool sand to his right. A smile tugs on Dean’s lips, but he clears his throat, holding back the clear sign of his joy of having Cas here with him. Watching the sunrise with a boy he likes – or possibly likes, Dean hasn’t decided yet – after the shit he went through last night, is calming.

More calming than the rhythm of the ocean and the sounds of the early morning.

“Mornin’,” Dean smirks, nudging Cas’ shoulder with his own.

Cas smiles weakly. He runs a hand through his fresh-out-of-bed mess of hair, and Dean notices that the bags under his eyes are more defined than they had been yesterday. Frowning, he leans backward to get a better glimpse of the busboy. He looks beyond tired, for whatever reason, which worries Dean.

“Good morning,” Cas mumbles. “Listen, Dean. About last night…”

_So that’s it._

“I just wanted to say I didn’t mean for –“ Cas tries to continue his unnecessary apology, but Dean cuts him off with one hand raised in the air.

“Please, Cas. Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault. My dad’s an ass. End of story.” Dean shrugs and turns to face the ocean once again. The sun has made little progress since Dean last checked, but the sky has transformed from a light blue to a mixture of pinks, blues and oranges. The sight makes Dean sigh contently.

Cas nods and follows Dean’s gaze. They sit in silence for a while, until the edge of the tide licks their toes and Castiel removes his shoes. When he dips his porcelain-toed toes into the foamy water, his eyes flutter shut and he arches his back slightly, purring to the touch of the ocean’s waves. Dean gulps noticeably as he side-eyes his scruffy friend and immediately sets his eyes forward on the horizon.

“So you really like the ocean, huh?”

Chuckling, Cas responds, his eyes still closed. “That’s an understatement.”

“Have you grown up near it your whole life?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Dean squints, his mind a jumble of thoughts mostly soaked with confusion. Castiel’s vague responses, although sounding sarcastic, don’t make much sense. Whatever he’s up to, Dean doesn’t want to play games. Not with Cas. He just doesn’t seem like the type to toy with Dean emotion’s like that, and Dean would hate to end their friendship on a bad note.

“What about you, Dean?” Finally Cas opens his eyes, fixating them on the creased lines on Dean’s forehead. Once their eyes meet, however, the creases disappear. Dean blinks once, hard, lost in the azure eyes staring straight at him.

“What about me?” His head cocks slightly, his lips parted.

“Where did you grow up?” Castiel expounds. He digs his palms into the sand, gathering handfuls of the stuff and watching it fall.

Dean sighs. “Everywhere, to put it nicely. My dad lugs my brother and I around the country while he works, so mostly we stayed in whatever motel that was vacant. But that was only after…”

When Dean hesitates, biting his lip, Castiel reaches over and places a hand on Dean’s wrist. He strokes the freckled skin gently. “You don’t have to talk about anything you’re not comfortable with sharing.” Dean glances up at Cas, sees the warmth in his eyes, and nods.

_I want to, but…_ Dean shakes his head. _That’s a conversation for another day, I guess._

After clearing his throat, Dean continues. “So yeah. We travel a lot, which sucks for Sammy because he never really had a normal childhood, but shit happens. We work with what we’ve got.”

Another silence stretches in between the two boys, and they return their attention to the dark blue mystery in front of them. The salty breeze tickling their exposed skin provides relief from the already scalding sunshine. But it’s a good kind of burn, and Dean feels sleepy because of it. He leans his head back, mirroring Castiel’s previous position, and moans softly because of the pleasurable warmth. If only he could stay like this forever.

It’s only when he feels the vibrations of someone running towards them that Dean realizes Cas is still holding his hand.

As soon as the person is as close as ten feet away from them, Dean slides his hand out of Cas’ and sits up, his elbows resting lazily on his knees. Castiel continues to bask in the sunlight, unfazed by Dean’s movement. However, as soon as the stranger opens their mouth to speak…

“Vasilius!”

Cas’ eyes pop open in a heartbeat.

“Lai- uh, cousin? What are _you_ doing here?” Cas moves quickly and is already on his feet before Dean can assess the situation. A lean blond towers over him, easily a foot and a half taller than Cas, and smiles brightly at the pair of them. He holds out his arms for a hug, but Castiel only stares at him. _Some cousin_.

“Vasilius?” Dean asks, looking to Cas for some kind of explanation. _Is he lying about his name?_

“It’s a nickname, given to me by my family,” he mutters. He waves his hand absentmindedly in Dean’s direction while he keeps his focus on his supposed cousin. Lai-whatever-the-hell-the-rest-of-my-name-is. Dean surely knows how to pick them. “I go by Castiel, now, cousin. No more of our silly childhood names.”

“Whatever you say, _Castiel_.” The guy chuckles darkly and shakes his head, but his eyes slide over to examine Dean. “Who is this? Not another victim of yours, is he?”

“No, but I’m sorry for being so rude,” Castiel offers Dean a hand up, which Dean doesn’t hesitate to take. When he’s finally on his feet, he notices that this cousin of Cas’ isn’t as intimidating as he thought. “Dean this is my cousin, Aeces. Aeces, this is Dean Winchester.”

“You normally don’t go for the tall, dark and handsome types, Castiel.” Aeces smirks, shaking Dean’s involuntarily outstretched hand. “But I must say, you did yourself well.”

Dean’s insides crawl when Aeces winks at him, giving him the once over. Everything about this guy makes Dean squirm, and he wonders if it’s his attitude or simply the way he looks at Dean, as if he knows everything about him. Even his darkest secrets, hidden under lock and key. Whatever it is, Dean doesn’t want to stick around for very much longer.

“Listen, Cas. I think Sammy might need me so I’m going to-“

“Oh no, don’t let me ruin your morning!” Aeces jogs backwards, hands raised innocently. “I just thought I’d swing by to say hello to a familiar-looking face. Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. Have fun with my cousin here.”

With another wink, Aeces disappears into the water, swimming far out toward the horizon. _Dude might be creepy, but he’s one helluva good swimmer_. Dean turns around to face Castiel, his arms crossed and face twisted into a grimace.

“What the hell was that?”

Castiel rubs his hands over his eyes. The result is his purple bags reddening and sand clinging to his cheeks, both of which Dean doesn’t complain. In fact, he wishes that Castiel would instead brush his sandy palm across Dean’s cheek, so that maybe it would count as their cheeks pressing against each other. Dean suppresses the desire that burns in his veins.

“If you don’t share your family drama with me, I’m certainly not sharing mine.” Cas shrugs, obviously bothered by the scene that had just unfolded, and drops his shoulders with a disgruntled sigh.

“Touche,” Dean replies. “But seriously, Vasilius? What language is that?”

“You don’t even want to know.”


End file.
